


Letters In Bottles

by ghostpicnic



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, F/M, Letters, M/M, Mind Games, Post-Episode: s03e07 Digestivo, Will Graham is a bitch, Will is a Mess, Yearning, alana bloom feels guilty, depressed cannibal is sad his boyf is getting married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:41:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26688328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostpicnic/pseuds/ghostpicnic
Summary: Hannibal finds out Will is getting married. What is there for him to do besides wish him the best?
Relationships: Molly Graham/Will Graham, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 60





	Letters In Bottles

**Author's Note:**

> this was inspired by a tweet that ive now lost that said something like "imagine in those three years between digestivo and the great red dragon alana shows up to work dressed all nice and hannibal is like 'whats the occasion' and she just goes 'wills getting married'" and i love seeing hannibal in pain so here this is

The wedding invitation in Alana and Margot’s mailbox feels like the first gasp of air after nearly drowning. It, mixed with the birth of their son, will cement the next chapter in their lives.

They are finally moving on from Hannibal Lecter. 

Alana is absurdly happy for Will. She’d met Molly briefly at Bastille’s baby shower and knew no one could possibly be better for Will. If anyone could paddle Will out of the ocean that is the mind of Hannibal Lecter, it is her. 

She and Margot book plane tickets to Maine immediately. 

Of course she doesn’t tell Hannibal. The last thing she wants to do is give Hannibal an excuse to get back in contact with Will. 

* * *

The day she is supposed to leave for the wedding, Alana still goes into work. There are only five doors between him and the outside world, she can have no peace until she has looked upon him in his gilded cage. 

She is not intending to tell him why she is leaving early, but when he looks at her with that smug face of his, she cannot resist the opportunity to knock him down a peg. Even in prison, Hannibal always seems to have the upper hand. And part of her still wants to hurt him. If anyone deserves to be kicked while they’re down, it is the man standing before her. 

“Good morning Alana, you are looking lovely as always,” he says, not looking up from his drawing. 

“Good morning, Hannibal.”

“May I ask what the occasion is?”

“How do you know there’s an occasion?”

“I overheard one of the orderlies mentioning you would not be here this afternoon. And that perfume is new.” He set his pencil aside and looked at her, his fingers tented in front of him. 

“I have a prior engagement that will take me away for the next two days.”

“Not another baby shower, I trust? Or perhaps Uncle Jack found his second flame?”

Alana smirked. “No. Will is getting married.”

* * *

_ Oh.  _ That is certainly unprecedented. Hannibal had thought of Will often throughout his incarceration, and had known the man to despise him, but he had also been confident that he would stay at the forefront of Will’s mind. That had been the point of his sacrifice in Wolftrap. 

Could Will have forgotten him so easily?

He is just taken aback enough to not be able to avoid reaction entirely, and he does not miss Alana’s smug smile at the darkening of his eyes. 

“Send him my regards,” he says, and pulls his pencils back towards him. 

Alana does not respond as she exits the room.

Once more alone, Hannibal tosses the drawing he is working on aside. Grimacing, he pulls a blank sheet to him and begins to write. 

* * *

The letter is waiting for him when he returns. The unmistakable stamp of the BSHCI on a medium-sized manila envelope sits at the very top of the mail pile beneath the door slot. The sight of it reminds Will of Winston sitting on the porch in Wolftrap, that night he returned to find Mason Verger with his face half eaten. The dogs are still at the kennel. They are not home to greet him, but this letter is. 

He enters the house before Molly, swiping it from the ground and placing it in his coat pocket before she has time to see. She knows enough, accepts enough. She doesn’t need to know about this.

Will is not surprised by the letter’s existence. If he is to be completely honest, he’d been expecting it. Hoping for it, if he was unconscious enough to be truly honest. But only when he was unconscious. He is more surprised by Alana’s allowing the letter to make itself known to Will.

No one had been happier to see him moving forward than Alana. He suspected it was lingering guilt over being the one to suggest Hannibal’s presence in Will’s life, way back in the beginning. He’d been angry at her coddling for a long time, but Molly’s presence in his life softened his heart in almost every way. He was the one to call Alana when he heard about her pregnancy. 

She had made no mention of Hannibal during the wedding or the proceeding party. She’d been smooth about it, as Dr. Lecter was certainly the last thing they should have been talking about. But Will had known he was at the front of both of their minds. Did he know Will was getting married? Will couldn’t imagine he didn’t. 

And now, looking down at the letter in his hands while Molly sleeps just a few inches away, Will knows he’d been right. 

Wally is still at Molly’s parents’ house, they hadn’t taken him on their week-long honeymoon to Yellowstone. The house is empty as he slips through it.

The trip had been lovely, a week full of marital bliss. He and Molly had fished together, hiked together, made love together in the trailer they’d been gifted by Molly’s parents. For the first time he could remember, the stream outside his mind was just as quiet than the one inside and just as satisfying. 

But he couldn’t help wondering how long supplies would last on this lifeboat he’d built himself. A paddle meant nothing without a clear direction, and something dark was bound to rise from the depths eventually. 

And here it was.

He lights a fire in the living room, deliberating when exactly he should throw the letter in. There is no telling what chaos its contents could bring forth, it may be safer to simply toss it in unopened. But Will has never been very good at reigning in his curiosity. Sitting in the armchair in front of the fire, he slides his nimble fingers beneath the fold of the envelope, breaking the seal. Out falls two pieces of paper. 

The first, a folded piece of what feels like expensive stationary. Even in a mental hospital, Hannibal has access to the finer things in life.

The other is a notecard with a recipe written in Hannibal’s distinctive hand. 

Will sets the latter aside and unfolds the stationary. 

_ Dearest Will, _

_ I do hope my well wishes do not find you too long after the fact. I regret to say that I was not notified of your engagement until the day of your wedding, thanks to the efforts of one Alana Bloom. I do wish you well, dear Will.  _

_ Were I able, I would send a gift along with this letter, but I doubt any gift I could give would be appreciated in your new world. No room for me on your lifeboat, I’m sure. _

_ And while I hope you do still think of me, I would ask you not to worry about me. I would ask you to enjoy this new life of yours, and all the luxuries it affords you.  _

_ Many Regards, _

_ Hannibal Lecter _

_ P.S. I have included a recipe traditionally enjoyed by newlyweds on their honeymoon. While I doubt this letter will reach you in time for that, I do believe your newfound family would find it quite up to their standards. I only ask that you prepare it yourself, and do not allow your new wife to replace me in your kitchen too soon.  _

Will is burning with rage by the time he reads the last word. So much so that the crisp paper has crumpled and wrinkled in his clenched hands. It is a taunt, a jest. Everything about it screams “enjoy this while you can, but you can never escape me.” 

Snarling, he snatches up the recipe card and tosses both it and the letter into the fire. He would burn himself to the ground if it meant he could free himself, but this last symbol of their lingering connection will suffice. 

The guilt hits him when he sees the flames eat a hole through the middle of the letter. He can’t stop the image of Hannibal, alone in his cell, writing a letter to wish Will well on the freedom Hannibal will never have again. And while he does feel some pride about being the one to put Hannibal there, the thought of the man caged hurts more than he’d expected.

He lunges for the papers, hissing at the heat on his hands. 

The letter is unsalvageable, crumbling to ashes in his hands. But the recipe card had fluttered to the side and is only a little singed around the edges. Will’s hands are tinged red and the sting of burn is setting in. Hannibal is still hurting him, even now. 

Sighing, he leaves the remains of the letter burning in the fire and makes his way to the kitchen. He tucks the recipe into one of the lesser used cookbooks on the shelf, then goes to treat his hands. He is already making a shopping list in his head.

* * *

Alana slams the letter into the chute. 

“What did you say to him?” She demands. 

“I only wished him well in his new life. Nothing more.” Hannibal had been smart enough to get his letter sent before Alana returned from the wedding, she hadn’t been able to intercept it. 

“I don’t want you sending anything else to him. I won’t be letting anymore letters slip by.”

“I am sure you won’t. It must burn you that your attempt to hurt me ended this way. Best to quit when you begin to fall behind. I must say I’m disappointed in you, Doctor Bloom, I’d thought we’d moved past these petty games.”

“I’m not playing, Hannibal. Not with Will. I want what’s best for him.”

“As do I. May I read my letter now?” He strides to the chute to pull it out. 

“You may.” 

“In private, perhaps?”

“No.”

“Very well.” He returns to the table to read what he assumes will be Will telling him not to contact him again. 

_ Dr. Lecter, _

_ Don’t delude yourself by thinking I don’t know exactly why you sent that letter. Don’t delude yourself with the idea that I’m writing this for any reason other than to say goodbye. I doubt Alana will allow any other letters from you slip by, and I deserve to get the last word for once, don’t you think? _

_ I made the recipe you sent. Did you think I wouldn’t? No, you knew I would. It was good, even my stepson liked it and the kid doesn’t eat anything but chicken nuggets. I’m sure you would have hated it, the ingredients weren’t up to your standards. I don’t have your appetite nor your eye for presentation.  _

_ I still think of you, it would be a lie most transparent to say I didn’t. I think of you alone in your cell, and take pleasure in the fact that you are thinking of me, yet so unable to do anything about it. The thing about you and me, Hannibal, is that I will always be out here and you will always be in there. You’re more lost in the depths of your own mind than I ever was or ever will be.  _

_ Goodbye, Hannibal. _

_ Will Graham _

“Well?” says Alana, her eyes betraying her worry that she may have let Hannibal back into Will’s mind. 

“He only wrote to say goodbye, Doctor Bloom, I assure you your conscience is no dirtier than it already was.”

“Good. Are you going to try to contact him again?”

“No.” He will wait. Will has managed to find dry land, but Hannibal knows he will grow bored eventually. Will is not suited to the polite ways of family life, he will certainly miss the roiling waves of their dark ocean. It is inevitable that he will one day jump back in. All that is left for Hannibal to do now is sink.

**Author's Note:**

> i might continue this if i get bored but tbh i just wanted to write will taunting hannibal while hes in jail like i think thats funny as hell


End file.
